


A Pair of Fools

by Lucy_Ferrier



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Allergies, Christmas Tree, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26893915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucy_Ferrier/pseuds/Lucy_Ferrier
Summary: “I hate this time of year,” Toby sulked, having moped up his face and discarded the handkerchiefs in the general direction of his laundry basket. He threw himself backwards onto his bed with a pout for the sake of additional theatrics when he spied Adil’s grin peeking out of the corner of his mouth and threatening to break out over his face. “I don’t see why Mother has to insist on Mr Garland dragging a bloody great pine off the street every year.”
Relationships: Toby Hamilton/Adil Joshi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8
Collections: Halcyon winter holidays 2020





	A Pair of Fools

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AstriferousSprite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstriferousSprite/gifts).



> I think we should all be amazed that I didn't manage to work in a pine/pining pun actually. I think that actually takes effort, considering.  
> I tried to keep it light-hearted. I dunno if I managed it entirely but I promise I tried. Noga's prompt had me backreading the discord at 1am for every instance they'd mentioned "the halcyon is a sitcom" and peppering that in around my own idea. it was... eventful (nine times btw. that's how many times "sitcom" was mentioned as of mid October and honestly its less than I thought it would be)
> 
> but i had a lot of fun with this!

The tree was large and dripped with sleet as it was dragged through the front door of the Halcyon, pine needles scattering across the floor and leaving it slick with sap in its wake. The crisp scent wound its way through the halls, and clung to the blackout curtains like pseudo decorations. Toby spared it a glance as he wove his way towards the door, wincing as the man pulling the tree released it, the pine’s pointed tip dipping back towards the floor and exposing the red of the man’s hands, blistered from the cold and the rope, though he grinned at Feldman nonetheless at his approach. Turning away, Toby ducked past Skinner, trying to breathe through his mouth as the cold hit him.

The fact that it had stopped raining did nothing to mute the slice of the wind, and by the time Toby reached his desk his face was stained pink with windburn. In the corner sat the top of an otherwise clearly discarded and already half-dead pine tree, draped haphazardly with cracked baubles and shedding tinsel yet still just barely managing to cling to the barest hint of festivity, a full tree clearly out of the question with the timber ration. It barely reached Toby’s hip, and yet its scent still reached him across the room, fresh and damp.

He sneezed as he sat down, stifling it in his sleeve and almost immediately regretting it. Toby sniffed harshly, swallowing around the resulting thickness in his throat. His colleague in the desk beside him muttered a quite _bless you_ before continuing with his work, only looking up when Toby sneezed again.

“That cold air sure gets to you, huh? Gotta be a relief to be inside now.”

Toby offered a wane closed mouth smile. “I suppose so.”

…

The rain had returned by the time Toby was finally able to clock off, sniffing harshly against the cold, a cough building in his chest, doing summersaults around a string of sneezes still waiting for the most inconvenient moment to manifest. The scent of pine clung to his clothes, and the thought of walking home could have quite easily sent him to tears, but with petrol now entirely restricted without a permit, it wasn’t as if he had much choice in the matter. Freddie or his mother might have been able to get hold of petrol coupons, but that courtesy was hardly likely to be extended to himself, or the non-existent cabbies in the area for that matter.

It was a small mercy that no one ever greeted him at the door the way his mother or brother were each time they arrived at the hotel, and Toby was able to slip past to the lift with little more than a concerned glance from Mr Garland.

The lift was empty, and Toby fell back against the wall in relief. He tugged at his gloves to free his hands; rubbing harshly at both his eyes until they were redder and rawer than before. The sticky feeling of pine felt as if it were everywhere, clinging to his clothes and skin and hair. It itched just behind his eyes; made his nose run something horrific, as evidenced by the four near-dripping handkerchiefs stashed in an empty pocket in his briefcase, and a fifth significantly less damp one that Toby once again drew from his jacket pocket, sneezing into it wetly, once, twice, thrice, four times, before wrapping it up again with a grimace and returning it to his pocket. He made a mental note to come and go through the staff entrance tomorrow.

In the meantime, Toby was more than happy to tug open the door of his room, listening for the faint click as it shut behind him as he entered, shedding layers until he reached his bed, finally, in only his day suit minus the jacket; the fireplace already spewing warm air throughout the space. Toby contemplated the thought of getting changed properly and meeting Adil in the bar only briefly before dismissing the idea. A man had limits. Instead, he fell forward onto the bed, landing squarely on his stomach and stared persistently at the clock, mentally calculating the minutes until Adil’s shift finished. He stubbornly ignored the sneeze building behind his sinuses, sniffing heavily and never taking his eyes off the second hand.

…

The bar was full and Toby was absent, and Adil was staring at the clock as easily as he might have offered glances at Toby as he mixed drinks, had he been there. It piqued his concern only slightly; Adil was far too busy in the post-dinner rush to exhaust all his emotional energy on a Toby who wasn’t even there. All he could hope was that work hadn’t kept him back again.

The minutes ticked to hours; the patrons drifted from socialites to alcoholics, turning the drinks from cocktails to straight liquor, and the age demographic took a steep turn. But they all stayed quiet enough; this deep into December had the majority of people holidaying in the countryside, leaving Adil and the other barmen with only the doddery old men they fondly referred to as their regulars, and of course, Mr O’Hara.

As the clock ticked into closing time, Adil was already packed up; the other barman blinking in surprise when he realised there was nothing left for him to clean, and the two could leave on time for a change. Adil sent him off before him with a polite smile, and the hope that the older man might change out of his uniform fast enough not to wonder why Adil never caught up.

The stairs were empty and dark as Adil crept up to Toby’s room, hoping he was still awake, but already prepared to chide him if he was. From three doors down however, came the sharp sound of a cough, followed by a string of rather comically loud sneezes.

“Toby?” Adil called out quietly as he opened the door, mindful not to draw attention from the other rooms that were undoubtedly awake from Toby’s commotion.

Toby sneezed harshly into the handkerchief, his whole body seeming to fling itself forward with the force of it, though he froze once he seemingly caught it. His grimace remained half-hidden beneath the now evidently dampened cloth, and Adil raised an eyebrow at him questioningly, pressing the door shut behind him.

“Could you pass me another of these from the drawer… no the one next to it,” he corrected as Adil moved towards draws by the bed. “Thank you,” Toby muttered, carefully removing one hand from his face whilst still managing to keep the now soiled hanky pressed over his nose with the other with practised ease.

Toby’s expression twisted into one of apology as he took the clean cloth from Adil without touching him, Adil’s nose scrunching up comically in sympathy as much as horror at the sheer volume of snot Toby had expelled.

“Hello. Sorry. I ah, I would have gone down to the bar at some point, but um. Well.” Toby gestured vaguely to himself. “Anyway.”

“Are you alright?” Adil asked. His eyes were wide with concern, as if he, and every man and his dog, particularly the staff for that matter, wasn’t aware of the specific predicament that was currently being inflicted on Toby.

“I hate this time of year,” Toby sulked, having moped up his face and discarded the handkerchiefs in the general direction of his laundry basket. He threw himself backwards onto his bed with a pout for the sake of additional theatrics when he spied Adil’s grin peeking out of the corner of his mouth and threatening to break out over his face. “I don’t see why Mother has to insist on Mr Garland dragging a bloody great pine off the street every year.”

“It’s festive.”

“You don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“No I don’t, but I hardly have a say in the matter either.” Adil made his way over to where Toby was on the bed, Toby propping himself up on his elbows at his approach.

“I know you’re just making fun of me,” Toby pouted vainly over his own grin. “I’m in agony don’t you know. Mother threatened not to have me for breakfast in the dining room until January.”

“And I’ve been assigned only nights and evenings until the end of the holiday season, so I think this works out rather well for the both of us, actually.” Adil wrapped his arms around Toby’s shoulders, pulling him up until he was sat properly, smile softening when Toby met his eyes.

“Not much good if I get snot on you though,” Toby muttered apologetically, pulling Adil between his legs and allowing his face to fall forward against Adil’s stomach. “You’ll be sick of me by tomorrow.”

Adil smiled, running his hands through Toby’s hair, the wind already having mussed it up enough so that Toby hadn’t managed much in the way of fixing it since he’d arrived home.

“It’s been two years, more or less. I don’t see why I’d suddenly be sick of you now. Or how hay fever can be that much of a deal-breaker for that matter. Besides,” Adil continued, sliding down onto the bed beside him, legs still slung over Toby’s right thigh. “We didn’t get to do this last year. I’m glad you didn’t get dragged out of London by the admiralty this year, even if you’re not.”

“They do have pine trees north of London too you know,” Toby smiled, his arms sliding up from Adil’s waist to rest his hands on his jawline, tracing it idly. “Though I’d imagine possibly not this year.”

“Call me selfish then.”

“I’d sooner call you mad I think,” Toby smiled, leaning back and pulling Adil down and over him again. “It might be more accurate.”

“Perhaps,” Adil readjusted his weight over Toby, leaning his face so he was millimetres away from his face before kissing him slowly, feeling his arms starting to give out when Toby kissed him back.

The moment was broken seconds later; Toby pushing roughly at Adil’s shoulders as he attempted to hold back his sneeze, Adil rolling to the side as Toby flung himself back into a sitting position as a string of sneezes worked their way out.

“Sorry,” Toby muttered, not pulling his hands away from his face.

Adil smothered a wince, smiling sympathetically at Toby’s pained look, handing him back the handkerchief from before, pinching it by a single corner so as to avoid touching as much as possible.

“Start getting undressed, I’ll run you a bath.” Adil stood up once Toby took the hanky, kissing him lightly on the temple as he went.

“You just want to see me naked.”

Adil rolled his eyes, grinning over his shoulder. “One way or another sweetheart.”

…

Toby had evidently sounded sick enough, or simply had sneezed obnoxiously enough, that he’d been let off early the following afternoon, leaving him suddenly with several free hours before dinner.

Having slunk in through the back entrance, Toby’d had every intention of sneaking up to his room and hoping his mother, or any staff likely to snitch to her, didn’t see him. But as he’d made it to the staff stairs, Toby had caught sight of Adil’s back as he re-entered the bar, and as comfortable as his room – away from allergens and noise and people – seemed in his mind’s eye, it would have been so easy to slip out after Adil, follow him into the bar, take a seat at a stool one or two over from Joe. He had work he could do instead, but one drink, a handful of minutes with Adil, well. It was hardly a choice was it?

…

They were subtle, to Priscilla at least. Which truly meant that Adil and Toby were about as blatant as two people pretending they weren’t in a relationship could be, but people did tend towards wilful ignorance in regards to these particular matters; and that went double for the aristocracy.

But there was a line. And Priscilla was tired. And after everything that had happened in those months after Lawrence died, she figured at least one person in her family deserved to be happy, though she doubted approaching her son, or Mr Joshi for that matter, about it so brashly would go over well, and it wouldn’t do to give Toby a stroke in the midst of the war.

Having said that, she didn’t want to continue to ignore the fact; she hardly could now that she’d accepted it. And if _talking_ was out of the question – and Priscilla did so want to avoid actually talking about it directly if she could; plausible deniability was in short supply as it was – then that would require alternative options. Something to suggest to either one of the boys that she was aware, and that she did not condemn them.

The present had sat tucked in a draw for the last few weeks in her dresser where no one would look. Priscilla, truthfully, had had no idea what to get Mr Joshi. It had never previously occurred to her that she would need or want to buy a present for the partner of either of her sons whom she both could not invite to dinner with the family, and more importantly, was not a woman. She had plenty of vague ideas on what to get a hypothetical daughter-in-law; the same could not be said for the reverse, even if she did already have two sons. It had left her stumped for some time, and as such, she had defaulted to the kinds of gifts she had once bought her husband, and occasionally had bought her sons in the past.

She had made sure it was nondescript, kept it simple enough to not draw attention for any number of reasons. Priscilla passively watched Toby slink up to the bar, nose red with allergies and cold, his face lighting up nonetheless when he caught Mr Joshi’s eye. He must have loved him an awful lot, she thought, to have braved the foyer, and the tree for that matter, just to see Adil. Before the war, Toby had tended more towards hiding away in his room, leaving only via the staff entrance until the 26th, when Mr Garland inevitably won the fight to have the tree taken down and cut up for firewood, staring at her and Lawrence coldly with an axe in hand, insisting that Christmas was over. Priscilla wondered how she’d managed to miss it all so completely before now.

She kept watching them as she sipped her cocktail; watched the way Mr Joshi’s smile was just that little bit brighter for Toby, the way Toby seemed both relaxed and rife with restless energy, as if he were barely holding himself together. Watched them pause and just look at each other as Mr Joshi passed Toby a drink, caught the brief moments Mr Joshi passed Toby quietly over his shoulder as he turned to serve the other patrons. She watched as Toby turned to leave the bar, hand brushing over Mr Joshi’s and trailing away only as he got up; watched the way Mr Joshi tracked him across the room before apparently asking for his break and disappearing out the back.

What a perfectly matched pair of fools she thought. How had she ever missed it.

…

They didn’t make it as far as Toby’s room.

Mr Garland swore quietly under his breath as he spied the pair disappearing into a storeroom, and mentally began working out how to redirect the staff to the other closets and cupboards for however long Toby and Adil were going to take. It was never easy to estimate with the two of them.

In the meantime, he staked out the corner in the corridor and began redirecting traffic flow, minute as it was, elsewhere.

 _Fools,_ he thought. _A complete pair of fools._

…

“Adil I think I’m dying.”

“You have hay fever.” Adil would have been more concerned, truly, if it weren’t for the fact that he had actually, on more than one occasion, seen Toby properly sick. A properly sick and sore Toby was _significantly_ quieter than this, even if he wasn’t precisely well at that moment. “Have you at least taken something for it?”

“I’ve run out. _Apparently,_ there’s been some trouble getting pharmaceuticals out of France, and phenbenzamine is hardly high on the list,” Toby said dryly, staring up at the ceiling with a dull expression. “At any rate, if I took it, it’d likely put me in a coma until someone let me know the tree was gone.” 

“Can’t you ask Mr Garland to find some? Or Mr Feldman?” Adil lowered himself so he was sat beside Toby, peering down at him.

“Can’t be bothered. And it’s not forever.” Toby still refused to look at him, the way his hands clenched minutely beside him the only thing that gave away Toby’s frustration. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for.” Adil flopped back fully on the bed, curling around Toby and resting his head against Toby’s chest. It certainly sounded clear; any and all congestion reserved solely for anywhere above his epiglottis. “What do you want? What can I do?”

Toby tipped his head back, arching his neck to hide his grin. “There’s a set up for a sex joke in there somewhere.”

Adil groaned, burying his face further against Toby’s shirt. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me for it.”

“I do. You’re still ridiculous though, so actually, I think that makes you lucky I do.”

Toby hummed happily, tracing patterns along Adil’s shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said, finally responding to Adil’s previous question. “The bath last night was nice. The steam.”

“Tea maybe? Or isn’t honey and lemon something people use?” Adil mused, already mentally preparing a list.

“For colds, I think. Though tea would be nice if you can find some.”

Adil pulled himself up slowly, unwilling to move away from Toby’s warmth so soon. He stared down at him fondly, pressing a kiss to Toby’s wrist when he traced down his face with a hand, pushing Adil’s fringe back from his face.

“I’ll go get you some. And then I’ll be right back.”

“I can promise I will not be moving at all while you’re gone.”

…

Adil likely spent more time making himself presentable again before leaving than he did actually hunting down the tea leaves; there was any number of gods who knew that it wouldn’t do to ever leave the aristocracy without their tea even in wartime, rationing be damned. And no one would ever, apparently, think it strange that the barman was brewing tea and taking room service when his shift should have ended fifteen minutes ago. As dangerous as it was, it did get vaguely entertaining, testing how far Adil could push the boundaries of propriety before someone noticed his affection for Toby again.

Service tray in hand and loaded with a teapot and a single cup and saucer – two cups may have been pushing it, and Adil was fairly sure Toby had a discarded coffee cup somewhere on his desk that could be rinsed regardless, if the fancy took him – Adil made his way to the stairs. He’d just reached the bottom of the second flight when Lady Hamilton called out to him.

“I’m assuming you’re taking that up to Toby, would you mind taking these up with you?” She strode up to him confidently, never giving him a chance to confirm or deny; at any rate, the accuracy of her assumption left him too dumbfounded to respond regardless. “Thank you, Mr Joshi,” was all she added before she strode away, never even once meeting his eye.

Adil blinked, voice still caught in his throat as Lady Hamilton disappeared around the corner again, no doubt headed for the guest stairs. Adjusting his grip, Adil hefted the tray so it was half balanced on his hip, and poured over what she’d just given him. Three relatively small boxes, wrapped painstakingly neatly in weeks old newspaper, but otherwise not clearly marked; Adil thought he might have caught sight of someone’s handwriting at one point, but the tray was beginning to tip, and it wouldn’t do to spill hot tea all over himself and his uniform now. Repositioning the tray once more so that he was carrying it with both hands, Adil continued up the stairs, still confused, hands tingling with anxiety.

…

Adil managed to balance the tray well enough to open the door, and true to his word, Toby had not moved from the bed since he’d left. His nose looked redder; a slightly bigger collection of soiled hankies now collected on the bedside.

“Here.” Adil hastily put the tray down and poured the tea while Toby sat up, before pressing the scalding cup to him. “The tea’s black I’m afraid. No sugar cubes either, but there is honey if you want it.”

Toby pouted but accepted the teacup regardless, leaning his face over the rim and breathing it in automatically. “Thank you.”

“Um.” Adil wrung his hands anxiously, Toby looking up at him with a questioning look. “Your mother also asked me to give these to you. She caught me on the stairs.” Adil chewed his lip as he passed the small collection of gifts over to Toby.

Toby blinked, but didn’t seem particularly surprised by the fact. He placed his cup back down on the tray, accepting the presents, fingers already feeling for the edge of the paper.

“Its something she used to do for Freddie and me when we were little. We’d get one or two small presents a few days early, to tide us over until Christmas,” Toby explained, catching Adil’s raised eyebrow.

Toby glanced back down, his finger suddenly catching the edge of the paper, slicing through and making it well slightly with a single bead of blood. Upon examination however, he instead caught sight of his mother’s neatly looping handwriting in between the lines of print; a simple message, and a name.

“This one is addressed to you actually.” Toby looked equally perplexed as he handed the smallest box back to Adil.

Adil accepted it back, turning it over in his hands for a moment, confused. “Well, it’s certainly far smaller than whatever your mother got _you,_ ” he attempted to tease, still buzzing with nervous energy.

“Oh the thrill of being the favourite for once,” Toby deadpanned, sipping his tea. “Are you going to open it?”

Adil traced his thumb over the corner of the box absentmindedly. It fit neatly in the palm of his hand and was wrapped neatly with salvaged newspaper, no doubt at the cost of Lady Hamilton’s own mortification. But it would seem even the Hamilton’s couldn’t get around the wrapping paper ban this year.

He could feel Toby practically vibrating with curiosity, and the barest hint of anxiety in his periphery and Adil frowned, pausing where he’d been about to tug back the folded corner of paper.

“I don’t suppose you know anything about this?” Adil asked, but Toby only shook his head, eyes never leaving the box. Taking a deep breath, Adil began to tug at where the paper had been glued down; it gave way easily under his ministrations, leaving behind the presumed box, with a snap lid. Casting one last glance at Toby, Adil pushed it open and stopped.

Adil stared at the contents of the box, blinking at the absurdity, his eyebrows sliding increasingly closer to his hairline. Sitting there, nestled on a piece of cloth that looked far too expensive to still be allowed this far into the war, sat a pair of silver-coloured cufflinks, left plain so as to allow him to engrave them with a pattern of his own choosing. They reflected the artificial yellow light of Toby’s room back at him, as Adil remained unmoving.

Toby was practically bouncing with impatience at it all, rubbing harshly at the itch building behind his eyes. He sniffed back a sneeze as he replaced the teacup back on the tray, pulling himself forward to tug at the loose fabric of Adil’s trousers.

“What is it?”

“She… got me cufflinks,” Adil answered disbelievingly.

“That’s… nice of her,” Toby said diplomatically. It wasn’t the most original idea; Toby was well aware that it was the sort of gift that his mother tended to lean towards when she was _out_ of ideas, Toby himself owned several pairs that had since sat in a box in the bottom of his wardrobe, mostly unused. 

Adil finally looked up from the box, a hysterical giggle working its way up his throat.

“I can’t wear them.”

“Why? I’m sure she would have made sure they were something discreet, I mean, why would she bother with a gift otherwise?” Toby chewed nervously at his lip. Despite the many questions writhing in his gut, he was dreading his next conversation with his mother, regardless of how desperately curious he was.

Adil stared at Toby for another beat, the giggle finally escaping him.

“Toby, I can’t wear them. _I can’t wear them._ All of my shirts and jackets have buttons.”

Toby snapped his mouth shut with a click. “Oh no.”

“ _Toby!”_

“Do you not own a dress shirt?”

“ _When would I wear a dress shirt Toby.”_

“Well I don’t know! What about your uniform?”

“I have staff cufflinks for that.”

Adil snapped the box shut, cufflinks still undisturbed inside, and placed it on Toby’s desk. He stalked towards where Toby remained sat up on the edge of the bed, Toby’s eyes widening as Adil pushed him back onto the mattress, staring at him wide-eyed.

“What the _hell_ am I meant to do?” Adil asked, entirely seriously, his face close enough that Toby nearly went cross-eyed trying to look at him.

“I don’t know.” It was all he could offer, though truth be told, he was now ever so slightly more distracted than before.

“ _Toby!_ ” Adil whined, high and desperate. “That isn’t helpful! What if she gets offended because she thinks I don’t like them?”

“She wouldn’t know though, would she? She hardly has reason to see you in mufti. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me?” Toby teased, unpinning an arm and looping it around Adil’s waist.

Adil stared at him. “Why cufflinks? There’s a metal shortage.”

“My mother is rich and ridiculous.”

“ _You’re_ rich and ridiculous.”

“I’m about to sneeze.”

Toby pushed at Adil’s shoulder harshly, blindly groping around for one of the many discarded hankies lost amongst the sheets and blankets. Adil practically launched himself across the room.

“Bless you,” Adil offered, shoulders sagging as Toby finally reached the end of his sneezing fit. “I think fourteen in a row is a new record though.”

Toby rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

Having recovered and retrieved his tea, Adil slid back down onto the bed beside Toby, resting his head against his shoulder, watching the steam curl out of the spout of the teapot.

“Does this mean she knows about us?” Adil asked, not looking away from the pot.

“I don’t know.” Toby clenched his cup between his hands, resting it against his lap for the moment as he mused. “I suppose I’d have to ask.”

“Hmff,” Adil mumbled, offering Toby a weak smile.

“Are you alright?” Toby once again reaching across to put his cup back on the tray, though finally empty this time, turning to face Adil properly.

“Just tired,” Adil drew his knees up, leaning against Toby fully, the new angle allowing him to rest against his chest. “Perhaps a little worried.”

Toby wrapped himself around Adil at that, kissing his temple before resting his chin on the top of his head.

“I’ll ask tomorrow.”

…

“Mother, I need to talk to you about something.” Toby reached for Priscilla’s elbow, catching ahold of her sleeve as she went to leave her dining room. She raised an eyebrow at him as she turned, watching idly as Toby flushed anxiously, letting go and tugging fitfully at his signet ring and not meeting her eye.

It was strange Priscilla supposed. She hadn’t expected Toby to want to confront the elephant in the room. _She_ certainly wasn’t sure she wanted to talk about it either, though she had certainly thought about it enough. It would seem there was rather a lot to say, both of them, to each other. And truthfully, she still didn’t know to what extent Lucien had hurt and threatened her son. She certainly had no idea if Mr Joshi had been at all involved, if he and Toby had even been involved by that point. Surely not. Surely she wasn’t that blind.

Though, there was, of course, everything else that had happened with Lucien that Priscilla wasn’t too sure she was ready to unpack, ever. Most definitely not immediately following dinner while Toby had been trying vainly not to sneeze everywhere.

Truly the one difference between the two of them in that current moment was that Priscilla was far better at hiding her anxiety.

“Yes?” Priscilla’s hands folded neatly in front of her, aptly hiding the way she twisted at her wedding ring. She certainly wasn’t going to speak first or for him on this one.

And here was Toby’s predicament. There wasn’t, really, any way of knowing, though it would have been otherwise to ridiculous to consider, how aware Priscilla was of everything between him and Adil. _Maybe_ , she’d gotten cufflinks for all the staff. _Maybe_ she was just being nice. It was strange, not to mention out of character enough that considering the possibility was _completely_ outlandish, but truly not out of the realm of possibility. Now faced with everything, the possibility was looking that much more real, and honestly, could he bear to admit to something as dangerous as his own feelings on the matter, when perhaps she wasn’t even aware that he was involved with Adil at all?

Admitting he knew about the gift that his mother had given Adil meant admitting that Adil had opened it with him. Which could quite easily be rationalised away seeing as she had passed him the box, and a handful of other things, knowing full well that Adil had been taking that tray up to Toby. Though there was still the issue, of course, as to how she had even known that at all. And that would have relied on Toby thinking rationally, when at that moment all he could feel was that liquid anxiety that _maybe,_ she knew. And maybe that was dangerous and terrible and terrifying, and maybe at that moment Toby should have been pleading and begging that she was wrong, but _maybe_ she knew, and was okay enough with the fact that she was giving her son’s boyfriend presents in secret and pretending that she wasn’t.

So instead of spitting out the speech he’d been rehearsing in his head all through dinner, Toby stared pleadingly at his mother, his mind a mess of terror tinged with hope.

“How did you know?” he asked in a small voice, staring at her hands.

“About?” Priscilla replied, staring with both eyebrows raised at somewhere near Toby’s right ear.

“Mother _please._ ”

Priscilla regarded Toby carefully for a moment. Unclear on what she was searching for, she then sighed, and returned to her seat at the table, Toby following her after a pause.

“I don’t know. I had a feeling, for a while. Though I never really thought too hard about it; that’s why I tried so often to set you up. I thought, perhaps, if I just gave you a bit of help… though, for the record, I am sorry about that.” Priscilla grimaced, twisting her wedding ring rhythmically. “Then, of course, Mr D’abbervile brought it up, in not so many words of course, though there was rather a lot going on at the time as I recall.”

Toby regarded his mother silently as she trailed off, lost in thought. It should have been odd, that it had taken them so long to speak of that last night before the hotel was bombed. The damage, whilst literally speaking, had ended up being mostly superficial with the exception of the left-hand side of the lounge and the stage, had seemed so astronomical in so many ways. It was a wonder then, in that sense, that they were speaking of it at all.

“I don’t mean the bombing,” Priscilla stated, as if she had read his mind; her head snapping up to correct him, though her eyes widened as the words spilled from her mouth. How much was too much to be said?

It made for an interesting distraction; Toby had been ready to slide into an internal panic about what to do now that his mother _definitely_ knew he was gay.

“Then what?”

“Well, Mr D’abbervile did die shortly after he brought it up. In rather unpredicted circumstances. Even taking the bomb into account. And I may… have gone through some of his things.”

“You went through his things,” Toby echoed.

“Well yes, but as I recall _someone_ called the police, which ended up making things rather _awkward_.” Priscilla’s eyes flashed in the low light as she stared pointedly at Toby.

“You make it sound like you killed him,” Toby muttered dryly, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of water from his previously discarded glass.

“It is possible that I killed him, yes.”

Toby inhaled the water very suddenly at that, choking harshly and sending his face bright red as he struggled to remind his lungs how to breathe.

“Possible,” Toby repeated, dumbfounded, once he’d caught his breath, Priscilla sitting up with concern.

“I mean, it did all occur very quickly in the heat of the moment. Though he was most definitely dead by the end of it.” Priscilla stared pointedly at the light fixture above the table, hands twisting rhythmically as her wedding band worked its way past her knuckle and suddenly become wholeheartedly engaging.

“You killed him. You _murdered_ him. You quite literally committed murder,” Toby stated, somewhat repetitively, staring at his mother.

“If what Mr D’abbervile insinuated is true, then _you_ committed _treason,_ so I am hardly the worst criminal in the room,” Priscilla sniped, unsure if she should be regretting telling Toby just yet.

“ _I_ was being blackmailed, what’s _your_ excuse?”

“He was threatening you!”

“Am I supposed to say thank you?” Toby offered mildly.

Priscilla sniffed, a smile twitching behind her haughty look. “It might be nice to be thanked, yes.”

“Thank you for killing your fiancé who I repeatedly warned you about,” Toby deadpanned.

Priscilla scoffed at that, though she simultaneously ignored the full extent of Toby’s teasing. “You were right. And I’m sorry.”

Toby nodded, awkward. “Does this mean you’re okay with me being… like this?” he sounded small when he said it; a child clinging to their mother’s leg, wondering if they were in trouble for something they couldn’t help.

“I don’t know you any differently, do I?” she said, softening as she looked back at him, and Toby could have cried.

“And Adil?”

“Does he make you happy?” Priscilla asked, watching him closely. Toby stared insistently at the ceiling light, eyes blinking furiously, only looking back when she spoke.

“Yes.” Toby looked his mother dead in the eye as he said it; there was never any other way he could have replied.

“Then yes.”

Toby pressed his lips together to suppress his smile, staring back down at the table, still fiddling with his signet ring. “He wants to know if you’d be offended if he didn’t wear the cufflinks.”

“Why wouldn’t he,” Priscilla’s eyebrows creased with confusion, unclear where Toby was going with this.

“He doesn’t own a dress shirt.”

Priscilla flapped a hand dismissively. “I’ll buy him a dinner suit then. Problem solved.”

“Mother _no_.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.”

Toby huffed, ever dramatic and never ready to be outdone. Though after a pause he continued, one last question.

“How did you know about him? About us, that is, I suppose.”

Priscilla rolled her eyes. “You two _really_ aren’t subtle at all you know.”

…

“She offered to buy you a suit.”

Adil turned back to Toby incredulously. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Not even remotely,” Toby grinned walking over to him, looping his arms around Adil’s waist.

“Rich and ridiculous,” Adil muttered, leaning back into Toby. “That’s worse than just the cufflinks.”

“Well, I assume the offer still stands if you ever change your mind,” Toby hummed, nuzzling the back of Adil’s neck. “I can’t say I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”

Adil rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

“No?”

“ _No._ ”

Toby fell back against the wall with a put-upon sigh, dragging Adil after him by the waist. “ _Fine…_ ” he pouted, trying not to smile.

Adil twisted around in his grip to face him, smiling fondly. “I love you, but you are quite possibly one of the most ridiculous men I’ve ever met.”

“Love you too,” Toby murmured against Adil’s forehead. Adil met him halfway, pressing Toby flush with the wall properly as he kissed him, kneading at his hip with one hand before pulling back.

“You’re sure she’s okay with us?” Adil swallowed back his anxiety as he said it, but Toby caught the note regardless, offering him a soft smile as he traced the line of Adil’s hipbone.

“Yes.”

“Really? Because last time-”

“I know-” Toby tried to interject. It wasn’t often that Adil rambled, and he never quite managed to reach the same extent that Toby could wind himself up into, a human livewire of stress, but then again, there were few things that could distress Adil as much as the stark reality of being caught, no matter how much they both flirted with the line on a near-daily basis.

“It didn’t _actually_ work out like that-”

“But honestly she really does-”

“And it would be so much worse coming from your _mother-_ ”

“She really does mean it. Truly.”

Adil searched Toby’s face anxiously, looking for any sign of the surprise or nervous relief he remembered from the last time someone caught them, the last time Toby had been sure they were going to be okay, the last time someone had reassured him that they would never tell. But Toby’s face was open and earnest, if slightly giddy, as he tried to reassure him.

“If she was going to react badly, she would have,” Toby promised. “You know what she’s like.”

Adil slid his arms up Toby’s chest, releasing all the air in his lungs in one continuous breath until he sagged against Toby completely boneless. He looped his arms up around Toby’s neck, pulling his face down to meet his own.

“Well then,” Adil said, kissing Toby again. “Lucky us.”

…

“You can’t remove the tree! It’s still Christmas!”

Toby caught the last notes of the shrill voice as he came out of the lift, blinking in surprise at the commotion that had managed to occur before most people had finished breakfast.

“It’s the 26th. Christmas has been over for… seven hours and forty-six minutes, I do believe I have been generous enough as it is.”

It was no surprise to Toby that Mr Garland was already stood in the foyer ready to remove any and all signs of yesterday’s festivities, the handle of the infamous axe just peeking out from behind the reception desk where the majority of the guests wouldn’t see it. Despite this, it remained painfully, though somewhat amusedly, present for Priscilla and the staff, who were stood around their stations somewhat nervously, others looking ready to reach for hypothetical popcorn.

It wasn’t his mother fighting Mr Garland this year. Indeed, there was hardly a permanent resident, staff, or Hamilton for that matter, who had the kind of impulsive effort to fight Mr Garland on the technicalities of Christmas Day. The man had an axe; and that didn’t even come close to overriding his usual persuasive stubbornness. Toby was confident Mr Garland had already offered the guest in question at least half of his arguments about the existence of _other_ December holidays, and scheduling issues with new year’s celebrations. The delay in putting up the tree in the first place had already occurred with successful arguments about the hotel’s anniversary, regardless of the fact that no one was wont to celebrate fifty- _two_ years of existence.

So no, it wasn’t Toby’s mother fighting Mr Garland about the tree this year; this year there was a guest, and Toby was already rolling his eyes at her put upon hysterics. A year ago, he might have bothered to offer up a single pang of sympathy for the fact that she, and much of the aristocracy for that matter, was clearly treating the holiday season as their own personal sandpit of denial in regards to the war. But if his mother’s own exasperated, and frankly _bored,_ expression was anything to go by, the woman had likely been threatening tears for upwards of half an hour.

Toby strolled up behind his mother, sparing a glance back at the tree as Mr Garland called over two young girls, both of whom looked to be no older than ten, both of them giggling madly as Mr Garland gestured to the tree.

Dora Taylor and Tzipi Klein had been seen roaming the hallways together since Dora had returned from Chertsey; a handful of days with her family offered before returning back out of London. Both girls had been more than thrilled to find a child the same age as them within a hotel full of stuffy rich people, and if the way they scaled the tree and began throwing decorations across the foyer towards the box Mr Garland had placed some distance away was anything to go by, they were likely to remain close long after Dora had to leave.

Toby raised an eyebrow as Mr Garland then appeared to reach for the axe as the girls left, giggling excitedly, Tzippi babbling excitedly in broken English about leftover latkes. Whilst in past years he would have had people carry the tree out the back to be chopped up, it would seem the guest from before, who now watched with mute horror, had riled him up enough that Mr Garland seemed to be very seriously considering cutting up the tree himself in the middle of the foyer.

Toby pouted quite obviously when his mother stepped in to stop Mr Garland before that could occur, sniffing harshly against the pine drenched air in disappointment. Priscilla raised an eyebrow at him as she turned away from Mr Garland’s glare, the tree already gathered up and moving towards the door.

“I would have thought you would be glad to finally have it gone?”

Toby rolled his eyes and didn’t reply, already halfway towards the door, half-formed plans to go to the bar after work already creeping upon him like an ever-persistent sneeze.

…

“You look better.”

Adil smiled as he handed Toby his drink, thumbing over the back of Toby’ hand. Toby tilted his head to one side, blatantly flirty, as he accepted the cocktail, staring at Adil intently as he sipped it.

“I feel better.”

“I can _tell,_ ” Adil teased. In a lower voice, he continued. “You look like you’re about to get us both arrested.”

“Ridiculous,” he quipped. “We’d be no use to each other in a cell. Have you taken your break yet?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.” Toby finished his drink, peering up at Adil through his eyelashes and grinning toothily at him. “See you in a minute then,” he whispered.

Adil gulped as Toby walked away, reaching for the discarded glass and stubbornly refusing to watch him leave.

…

Priscilla shot a pained look over to Mr Garland, who watched the pair with exasperated exhaustion. He rolled his eyes at her, his own mocked look mirroring her’s, even as a smile peeked out the corner of his mouth. Toby grinned fully at Adil over the bar, leaning just too far over to be proper, Adil’s eyes alight at his antics.

 _Three,_ Richard mouthed to her across the room. _Two. One._

Toby turned to leave, and Priscilla was grateful she couldn’t see her son’s face, if only because of the way it caused Adil to blush. He scrubbed the glass in his hand entirely too intently to truly be paying attention to it, and Priscilla smiled behind her own glass, tapping out a rhythm across the crystal, eyeing Richard.

_Three, two, one._

Adil turned to inform his colleague that he was taking his break, and Mr Garland downed his drink all at once, turning back to the foyer to greet guests, shooting Priscilla another knowing look as she went. Priscilla eyed the door Adil had escaped out, shaking her head fondly.

 _Fools,_ she smiled. _A perfectly matched pair of fools._

**Author's Note:**

> i would also like to throw out there for no particular reason that tzippi and dora's friendship was something that i had written long before anyone really went into detail about it on the discord, and it was a thrilling moment where i had to sit on my hands and not say anything when noga mentioned it!  
> as for the allergy plot, well I'm sure a few of you remember me yelling about researching that...


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